Harry Potter and the Woman in Black
by Lovell Luka
Summary: Harry has defeated Voldemort, but the persistent fame is a never-ending burden. Now Harry wants to run away from the wizarding world to live a quiet muggle life. But even Muggles have their own burdens and sometimes it pays to be a wizard. And old foes are thrown into the mix, not to mention a deadly secret. Can Harry survive? Warning: Spoilers. Rating may go up. R&R please.
1. The Angel In The Bar

Harry Potter and the Woman In Black.

Warning: Spoilers from the Woman In Black.

It's been four years since Harry graduated from Hogwarts. Voldemort had perished by his hand and the wizarding world was finally at peace. Hogwarts resumed its operation after they'd managed to clean up the debris from the war. Ron and Hermione got married; it was a lovely ceremony with many people in attendance. Everyone was truly happy, except for Harry. He no longer fancied becoming an Auror; that life of hunting evil and chasing Horcruxes was no longer what he wanted. He wanted a calm life, away from all the magic and fame he grew up with. All the press and that horrible Skeeter woman. No one seemed to give him a break now that he was their 'Hero'; not a moment to himself when he stepped into the wizarding streets. Everyone knew his name...

He and Ginny moved into Grimmauld Place that following winter, though there was no real hope for a long lasting relationship. It was doomed before it began. Ginny was not adept at Muggle living. She used magic for everything and that frustrated Harry to no end. And that upset Ginny; sometimes she would use magic purposefully just to irritate him, which doesn't really speak for love and respect, I must say.

"Can't you wash dishes by hand?" Harry asked her, sounding irritated as he raked a hand through his hair.

Ginny looked at him with insulted eyes, "No, I cannot. I'm from a pure-blood wizarding family. Remember?" she sniffed and flicked her wand harder than intended. Several dishes smacked the water in the sink. Not only did the resulting splash hit Harry, but it ended up breaking his favorite glass plates.

Harry just gave her a slightly irritated glare as he wiped dirty water from his face. He turned to leave the kitchen and let Ginny resume her magical dish washing. He crossed the creaky wooden floor of the living room and grabbed his long black coat from the nail on the wall. Ginny didn't even realize than Harry had left until he was already a mile down the street.

He walked aimlessly through the streets of London. His warm breath like mist in the cold night air and his dampened hair forming icicles on the ends. He shoved his hands in his coat pockets for warmth, though that didn't help much. Perhaps he should find a cozy place to warm up; a small muggle pub was just right on the other side of the street. What harm could it do? After all he could use the inebriation. He crossed the deserted street and made his way up to the old pub.

It seemed quiet inside. Not too many souls would be out at this ungodly hour anyway. Harry pushed on the door and announced his arrival with a small creak, though nobody bothered to look up to see what had caused it. Harry smiled a bit, finally feeling somewhat at ease. He casually walked over to the bar, where an old man was serving and mixing drinks, and sat on a tall wooden stool. It creaked too under the weight of his body.

"What'll ya have, mate?" the friendly old coot asked, giving Harry a chipped-tooth grin.

"Everclear please." Harry said as he stared down at the wood grain of the bar.

"Aye, looks like someone's gettin' sloshed tonight, eh?" The man said as he reached for a bottle of Everclear underneath the counter, "Feelin' down in the dumps?"

Harry nodded and let out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding. Agonising over Ginny's lack of domestic muggle talents wouldn't really do him any good.

He poured a shot for Harry, then went to put the bottle back, though Harry didn't quite like that. "Just leave it." he said to the old man.

The man shrugged. "Aye. It's yer liver." he said and turned away to tend to other matters at hand. Some lonely drunkard was banging his glass on the table, demanding a refill, which Mr. Chipped-Tooth obliged.

Harry sipped the clear liquid from the small glass. The alcohol was tasteless, just like good Vodka should be, though it still burned a bit on the way down. Like soft fire warming his throat and chest. Harry coughed and sighed and poured himself another shot. He quickly downed that one in seconds and poured another. He figured he'd be fine. He was always able to hold his liquor and didn't usually become a bit more than tipsy at best. Though that was before he tried Everclear...

Not long after he was indeed drunk. Like, can't-see-straight-falling-down drunk. He wobbled on his stool and then laughed at nothing in particular, earning him an odd glance from the bar tender and the night-owl customers. A woman to his left, a few stools down, giggled. Though Harry looked to his right and said 'hi' to the old wooden door. She giggled again, this time standing and sneaking her way over to Harry.

"Hi there," she said from beside him.

If he'd been a little less wasted, he might not have been so startled that he'd fallen off his stool and onto the hard, unforgiving floor. The woman stifled a giggle with the back of her hand and moved to assist the stumbling man, who was trying in vain to stand. He really has to drink less so he doesn't lose all control of his motor skills. What if a cute girl wasn't there to help him? He may have asked himself. He doubted the bar man would be able to help much. That bloke looked like he has a bad back.

"I didn't mean to give you a scare," the young woman said as she helped Harry back onto his stool. She brushed him off lightly.

"Think nothin'... don't mind... it," Harry said, slurring every word, "I'm not... don't get... usually drunk this much."

She laughed again, and Harry noticed her beauty for the first time. Though his vision was quite impaired and blurry, he could still make out the soft, pale features of her face and her long, golden blonde hair. In his state, she looked like an angel. He offered a wide, drunken smile.

She smiled back. "I'm Stella." she said.

"I'm Har- thur. Arthur!" Harry said, deciding to give a false name. At least he could be someone else for one night.

"Nice to meet you, Arthur." Stella said and shook Harry's outstretched hand.

Harry looked around a pub and his head was spinning. He suddenly felt dizzy. And he rest his head on the counter. "I feel sick." he mumbled somewhat coherently.

That nice girl, Stephanie. Was that her name? She started rubbing Harry's back soothingly. It did feel very nice. Almost nice enough to make that nauseous feeling in the pit of his stomach go away.

"You live around here?" Sally asked suddenly.

"Mmm... a few blocks... not far." Harry muttered into the wood.

"I live on Gatwick Drive." she told him and proceeded to rummage through her purse.

The soothing back rub had stopped and Harry groaned. Then he felt his hand being pulled away by another.

"Here's my number," she said and scribbled some numbers on the back of his hand, "Call me sometime?"

Harry nodded as he sat up a little straighter, "Sure."

Sandy then stood from her stool and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. "Goodnight, Arthur."

With that she left the pub, the old door swinging closed behind her. Harry just stared at the empty space next to him for a moment, then he looked at his ink-covered hand. Some numbers and a name were scribbled on his skin.

"Stella!" Harry blurted out as he read from his hand, finally remembering her name.

Some people glared at his sudden and loud outburst, but he was too disoriented to really pay them much attention.

"Stella," he said again and smiling, genuinely smiling like he hadn't in a long time. He really liked that name, it was simple and elegant.

"Stella." Harry sighed happily and leaned his head back down on the wood bar counter.

Harry was exhausted, his mind sluggish and dull. He felt beyond tired now and wished he was already back home in his large bed with Stella. Wait... didn't he mean Ginny? Oh well, his mind isn't working properly anyway. He can just blame that little bit on the alcohol. Harry chuckled lightly and let his eyes droop close.

:.:.:.:.:.:

_What's poking me?_ Harry thought to himself as something repeatedly jabbed him in the ribs. Though he didn't find the strength to open his eyes.

"Oi, wake up ya ruddy git!" Mr. Chipped-Tooth said, "It's closin' time."

Harry wearily raised his head and glanced at the old man, then at the the face of a worn clock hanging above the door. Through bleary eyes he could see that it read well past four in the morning.

_Oh, bugger_, Harry said internally.

He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out some money to pay the barkeeper. Mr. Chipped-Tooth smiled at him and bid him a good night. Harry smiled back and made his way to the door, all the while trying to keep his balance. He stepped out onto the street and just stood there for a moment. He glanced up and down the streets and there was not a soul in sight, but he figured he would be better safe than sorry.

Harry carefully rounded the corner of an alley and Apparated home. And thankfully nothing on him had splinched, considering the amount of alcohol he had ingested.

-TBC

D/C: I still don't own HP or WIB. But I do own some lint and coins... among other things. I also own a nintendo. My nintendo of doom. X3

A/N: I love HP and WIB. So here's a nice crossover. I can't stop watching WIB. It's freaking epic. :D

Bye lovelies, Until next time.

And special thanks to my lovely Beta, drarrypotter94. She's mine, can't have her. XD Lol.


	2. Breaking Away

Harry Potter and the Woman In Black.

Chapter 2: Breaking Away.

_I wanna heal_

_I wanna feel_

_What I thought was never real_

_I wanna find the thing I've wanted all along_

_I will break away_

_I'll find myself today._

In the week that passed Harry and Ginny's relationship only grew more tumultuous. There was more anger between them than Harry can ever remember. When he'd gotten home from that night of drinking, he immediately wrote Stella's number down on a small yellow post-it note pad and hid it away in the bottom of his underwear drawer to keep Ginny from finding it. And thank heavens, she still hadn't found it. Though it would seem that Harry was getting a bit paranoid on the whole matter. It's not like he's cheating on Ginny. No, definitely not.

Ginny came home from her work. It was 3:17 in the afternoon. She's a quidditch coach, so she would come home at odd hours of the day. Her schedule was never the same. Harry was in the laundry room, doing a wash of all his and her clothes. He was unemployed at the moment, seeing as how he's looking for work in the muggle world. So he was home now, with nothing to but wash clothes... the muggle way. And although it didn't bother Harry a bit, it bothered Ginny.

She saw him unloading clothes from from that thing called a 'dryer' and putting them in a 'laundry basket'. They were odd contraptions to her, but Harry was very taken with them. She gave a slight glare in his direction and gave a loud huff.

"What is it now, Ginny?" Harry said, not looking at her, with an air of exasperation.

She crossed her arms over her chest with another small huff. "Why do you bother?" she said, sounding irritated.

Harry stopped what he was doing and straightened himself to look at her properly. She was still wearing her coach uniform for the team she worked for, that Harry can't remember the name of. Her face was blank as she stared at him and tucked a stray hair behind her ear. Though here eyes were different. They were not the usual soft shade of blue that he'd grown to love, they were more cold. Devoid of any warmth and passion; at that moment, Harry couldn't tell if he actually loved him or not. Why she stayed, Harry's not sure. If she's this unhappy with him and his 'muggle phase' - as she likes to call it - she should have just left. To be honest Harry's desire for her has dwindled greatly.

"With what?" Harry replied.

Ginny rolled her eyes and said, "With doing all this muggle rubbish!"

And as a defensive maneuver, Harry crossed his arms over his chest as well. "Because you don't need magic for everything! It kind of takes away the meaning of life if you can't do anything for yourself!" Harry argued.

Ginny scoffed at that. "So is this supposed to be some 'spiritual' sort of thing? Caught up in muggle religion too, are we?"

"What?" Harry asked more exasperated than he was before, "No. It's nothing like that. And why are you so against it?"

"Because doing things the muggle way is-" Ginny stopped herself and sighed in frustration as she looked away from Harry.

"What?" Harry interjected, anger just bubbling beneath the surface. "Inferior?"

And then Ginny turned back to him and met his eyes. "Yes." she said simply.

Harry's mouth was slightly agape as he stared at her, looking for the woman he used to love and wondering how she could say the things that she was.

"You're starting to sound like a Malfoy," Harry noted with disgust, "Want to start calling Hermione a 'Mudblood'?"

"No!" Ginny yelled, insulted, "I love Hermione! She's like a sister."

Harry stared at the floor for a long while, neither willing to speak just yet. Only the sounds of their rhythmic breathing and a clock ticking away to fill their ears. Harry ran a hand through his hair with more force than intended and spoke finally.

"I can't do this anymore," he said in what sounded like a quiet growl.

"What?" Ginny asked in a calmer voice than she previously used.

"This!" Harry shouted, gesturing to him and her both, "This is never going to work!"

Ginny stiffened slightly, "So is that it, then? We're breaking up?" she asked on the edge of hysteria.

Harry nodded without breaking his gaze. "Yes." he said with an air of finality.

"Fine." Ginny hissed-slash-cried and stomped into their bedroom, slamming the door.

Harry was angry and felt like he wanted to hurt something... anything. He slammed both fists hard against the wall, which rattled some windows close by and dislodged a portrait from it's hangings. An old portrait of Arcturus Black, Sirius's grandfather, fell to the floor with a thud.

"How dare you? Put me back up this instant!" Arcturus shouted with superiority rolling off him like water.

Harry glanced at the portrait, then kicked it hard down the hallway and into an empty room with as much strength as he had. The man yelled as he went flying, but Harry didn't care. At least he didn't have to put up with that ancient git.

A few minutes later, Ginny came out of their room with her bags packed and her eyes red. She look like she'd been crying the whole time she was packing. Her face was still damp with glistening tear tracks.

"Where're you going?" Harry shouted as she descended the stairs at a frantic pace.

"I'm leaving!" she shouted back. Once at the door, she turned to look at Harry, who had followed her down the stairs. "I'll be at the Burrow. Have fun with your muggle life, Harry." And with that she left, slamming the door behind her again.

Harry was left all alone in Grimmauld Place. It felt wrong and empty without her, but that nervous feeling of always walking on eggshells was gone. He no longer had to worry about upsetting her. It was a rather nice feeling. Harry sighed and walked back upstairs to finish the laundry. He still had some of her clothes, so he would have to owl them to her... He contemplated throwing them in the mud before sending them, but then again he wasn't that spiteful... or petty.

The next day, Harry awoke late into the afternoon. Yesterday's events had taken a toll on him and his mind as well as his body. Though the physical stress was not as bad as the emotional stress. He wished to a god anywhere, that Ginny would have been more accepting of his desire life style. But no such luck. She was adamant in her ways. Once a pure-blood, always a pure-blood. Harry cringed at that thought. He knew the Ginny and the rest of the Weasleys were nothing like the Malfoys, but still that didn't mean that they were completely unbiased.

Arthur Weasley's fascination with muggle objects is mostly tolerated in the Weasley family, but Harry knows it irritates the whole lot of them.. Especially Ginny. Harry shook his head, dislodging any and all unpleasant thought he could as he cooked breakfast for himself. Bacon eggs and toast in a muggle non-stick frying pan. Harry smiled to himself and he cooked, the steam from the food rising to meet his nostrils. And it smelled lovely, so much better than if he'd conjured it with magic. Harry loved magic and he would still use it occasionally for important things that he needed magic for. Like, he would still Apparate and fly on his broom, but he didn't need magic for such a simple thing as cooking.

Harry sat down to eat his 'breakfast'. He looked at the clock. Four-seventeen, it said. Harry sighed.

_Today was a complete waste_, he thought.

After his warm meal - that Ginny hadn't spelled up for him - Harry walked upstairs to shower. The burning hot water sluiced down his body and scorched the tender skin in some areas. But it was a burning heaven. All the tension seemed to fall away with the steam and the water rolling down the drain. His hair was a mop of soaking wet, black mess that draped over his eyes, but he couldn't care. It all felt so lovely.

Then he turned the water off and stepped out of the shower. With a quick toweling and the swipe of a comb through his hair, he was done. Harry opened the drawer of his underpants and rifled through them, looking for an acceptable pair. Yes, they were all clean and hole-less, but he was looking for a specific color. The dark navy ones he bought for himself, unlike all the others that were bought by dear, sweet, bitter, hateful Ginny.

And there they were! Navy blue pants with a note inside. A yellow sticky note with a strange little number on it... Stella's number. Harry smiled and laughed to himself, mentally deciding to give that lovely girl a call.

The phone rang, one... two... three times and then, "Hello?"

"Hey! It's Arthur." Harry said, again using his false name.

"Oh, hello Arthur! How are you?" Stella asked.

"I'm fine. And you?"

"I'm well. I just got home from work."

Harry smiled, "Great. Would you like to get together tonight?"

Pause, "Sure... what did you have in mind?"

"We could go to the mu- cinema," Whoo, that was close. Harry thought, for having almost said 'muggle' to a muggle, "and maybe dinner?" he finished.

"Yes. That sounds charming. Pick me up at eight? I'm 2387 on Gatwick Drive."

"Right. See you then." Harry smiled.

"See you." Stella said happily, and then _click_, she hung up.

Harry place then phone down and smiled once more. A lopsided, goofy grin. He was going to see Stella again. What blissfulness fate has given him.

-Later-

Harry pulled up to a little white house with a short wooden fence. The numbers 2387 plastered to the paneling of the house in iron molding. Flower boxes adorned the windows with bright purple lupins that swayed easily in the wind. Harry moved up the walk to the front door and tapped the brass knocker against the painted wood two times. He was five minutes late. Perfect timing if you asked him. Graceful ladies needed extra time to fuss over themselves.

Harry waited for a moment before he heard shuffling inside the house and the door swung open. Stella smiled at Harry and she struggled to slip on one of her high heels in bent position. Harry just smiled too.

"Hello," he greeted.

"Hi, Arthur. I'm ready." Stella said as she stepped through the door and locked it behind her.

They went to the car and, like a gentleman, Harry stood politely at the passenger door; holding it open for Stella. She smiled a him and got in. Harry closed her door before going around to the other side and getting in himself. A turn of the ignition and they were off...

-TBC

D/C: I still don't own HP or WIB. But I do own some lint and pennies... among other things. I also own a nintendo. My nintendo of doom. X3. don't think I need to pout a disclaimer anyway. We all know that no one on this site owns the fandoms they write about. It is called anyway. Besides, the ones who do own this stuff see it as free advertising. So, do I really need a disclaimer?

A/N: I love HP and WIB. I can't stop watching WIB. It's freaking epic. :D

I only wanted to watch it because Radcliffe's in it. And I made a bad joke, "I bet Dan would just hate me if I walked up to him and said, 'Hey, I loved your new movie; Harry Potter and the Woman in Black'." You know, cuz he wants to grow beyond the glasses. So that's how this little fic came along. =^w^= And I must credit my super awesome beta: drarrypotter94. She's wonderful.

Bye lovelies, Until next time... I'm suddenly sad for indoor cats... Poor things need to play in the grass!


	3. A Fresh Start

Chapter 3 - Fresh Start

Harry and Stella pulled up to a small little restaurant only a few miles from where Stella lived. A small Italian place that served the best lasagne and pasta. Harry had been there many times with Ginny and Hermione, when she came into town to see Harry and wasn't horribly busy with her SPEW movement. Lately, Hermione had been going before the Wizengamot to try and get a House Elf Civil Rights Law passed. Oh, dear sweet Hermione, she has a good heart. And if all that wasn't pressing enough, Ron had proposed marriage not only a month ago. So, with all that, Hermione doesn't get to see Harry often. Which is sad, because she's his most accepting friend. Hermione, being a muggle-born herself, was more than accommodating.

He and Stella sat and talked for many hours about themselves, their families and friends as they shared a three course meal and dessert. Harry told her that his parents had been murdered and that he'd grown up with his aunt and uncle. And that he went to a boarding school for most of his time growing up. He conveniently neglected to tell her that his parents were murdered by a psychotic, power-hungry wizard; intent on destroying practically all mankind, except for the pure-blood wizarding families even though said power-hungry wizard was only a half-blood himself. Yes... he conveniently left that part out, along with all the rest of his magical history.

To her, he was just a simple man; another muggle. And he still let her believe that his real name was indeed Arthur, and not Harry. He felt bad about lying, but it was refreshing to be somebody else. Anonymity was a beautiful thing. And perhaps he would just keep that name. He could legally change it within muggle law. He could maybe even change his appearance. A new hair cut, and perhaps corrective laser eye surgery. That would allow him to never have to wear his trade-mark glasses again. Then he could obtain true anonymity. That would be wonderful, in Harry's case.

All was going well. She seemed very smitten with him and he was thoroughly enjoying her company. So much more than he'd ever had with Ginny. Speaking of Ginny; Harry had to remember to owl her clothes back to her. May not. He could always Incendio them... Now there's a thought! Harry mentally shrugged off all thoughts of Ginny Weasley and her obnoxious ways. Tonight was just about him and Stella. She has an adorable little way of giggling and tucking her stray hair behind her ear that seemed to fall loose with every hearty laugh. Harry especially loved her eyes; a bright blue like the sky and depths like the oceans. He could drown in them. They shared another bottle of wine and continued to chat about life and what prospects the future might bare.

Stella even told him about her childhood. How her mother was a seamstress and her father a banker. She told of her brothers and sister. Her eldest brother, who was about Harry's age, passed away a few years ago. Though she wouldn't say why or how. Harry respected her privacy in the matter. It's always hard to lose someone you love and you may not always want to talk about it. Besides he barely knows her. Why would she tell someone, who's practically a stranger, one of her most personal tragedies? Stella grew up in the country and learned to ride on horseback and even learned a bit of how to play polo, but she admitted that - although she has a great love of the sport - she is merely an amateur. Harry smiled and informed her that he likes polo as well. It was something else they had in common.

It was well into the night before Harry returned the young woman to her home, tipsier than when he'd found her. She giggled al the way up to the door and she kept falling over and Harry would have to catch her. His arms around her slim waist felt warm and pleasant. Stella wasn't complaining about it though. In fact she seemed to enjoy the proximity. Harry would hold her and steady her; causing her lovely, soft, pale face to turn crimson and flushed. When they'd finally made it to the door, Stella fished out her keys and unlocked it - or tried to anyway.

First she held the key backwards, then upside down. And when she did have it right-side up finally, she apparently was so bleary-eyed that she missed the actual key hole. It was like watching a blind-folded child try to pin a tail on the donkey. Feeling frustrated at the display, Harry gently pried the key from her elegant hands and unlocked the door for her, then returned her keys. Stella smiled her thanks, blush deepening. She stepped inside and tossed the keys on a nearby table. Harry just stood on her step, looking a bit dumbstruck. What was he to do now? Should he leave? Should he ask to come in? Before he had to make any real decision, Stella made it for him.

"Would you like to come in?" She called from the centre of the living space, glancing over her shoulder at Harry with a drunken smile on her pretty features.

Harry grinned sheepishly, "Thank you very much."

He stepped over the threshold and closed the door behind him. Stella was humming a happy tune as she made her way to the kitchen.

"I have some Aqua Vitae if you like?" she called.

"Er... no thanks. I get any more sloshed and I'll start chucking my dinner." he said and smiled to himself. He was even more drunk that Stella was, at least in his estimation he was.

Stella walked back into the room holding to ceramic mugs, "I have coffee, instead."

She handed one mug to Harry, who smiled and thanked her before taking a sip. Mmm... dark roast with cream and sugar. His favourite. Stella sat on a large sofa near the fireplace and beckoned for Harry to join her. He obliged, sitting very close to her. There was no fire roaring in the hearth, but that didn't spoil the romantic mood.

"What did you say your last name was?" Stella asked.

Harry hesitated, but she didn't seem to notice. "I didn't. It's... er..." Harry thought about telling her his real last name, but that was out of the question. So he just said the first thing that came to mind. "Kipps. My last name is Kipps."

"Arthur Kipps? You wouldn't happen to be related to Deborah Kipps, the singer, would you?" Stella asked with a cute drunken smile.

"No, definitely not." Harry smiled and shook his head.

"Aw. Too bad, love." Stella said, half amused, half disappointed and pat Harry's knee affectionately.

Harry chuckled softly and glanced over at her, grinning. She leaned closer to him, also smiling a little lopsided. Her lips were parted slightly and moved toward Harry with fluttered eyes. Harry panicked slightly. Stella was going to kiss him. He turned his head at the last second, so all she got was a lip-full of his cheek instead. She pulled back and seemed a mite confused as she pouted at him... with her supple, pouty lips. No! She's too drunk. He mustn't take advantage of her while she'd in such a vulnerable state! On second thought... no, he really shouldn't. Harry smiled fondly at her and resisted every urge to snog her right then and there on her sofa; instead he just planted a sweet kiss on her forehead. Stella looked so damn gorgeous. If he were a lesser man he might have considered it, but no. He's Harry bloody Potter, whether he likes it or not. And Harry bloody Potter doesn't go around shagging drunken women he hardly knows... Besides, he's also ruddy old Gryffindor down to his soul whether he likes it or not; they're chivalrous and kind-hearted.

Harry grabbed hold of her shoulders once more, as she seemed to fall over alot in her current state, and laid her back against the soft cushions of the sofa.

"Thank you for a lovely evening, Stella, but I really must be going." Harry said as he got to his feet.

She only continued to pout and stared at him with hazy eyes.

"But, love!" she whined a bit, "You just got here."

"I know. I know, but I really should be going. I'll call you tomorrow..." he said and pecked her on the cheek. "...after you're sober." he muttered under his breath as he opened her front door.

As he walked down the drive, he was undoubtedly grateful that his resolve was strong enough to resist temptation. Harry got into his car and very carefully - and slowly - drove himself home. No good getting into an accident, plus it's not like he was that drunk.

-The Next Day-

Harry awoke to the sunlight berating his senses and tried to shut out the world. He rolled over on his stomach and clamped a pillow tight against the back of his head, making his head throb even more. Yes, he was suffering from a severe hangover the likes of which he hasn't experienced since he and Ron went binge drinking in Hogsmeade and ingested eight pints of Firewhisky. Each. Oh, how Hermione had yelled about alcohol poisoning. Yes, it's easier to cure in wizards - potions and spells and what not - but it doesn't mean that it's not still dangerous. The window that was opened a crack let in the loud sounds from the street below. Car horns and children yelling. Harry groaned and held the pillow tighter to his head.

After a while, he had long given up trying to hide from his hangover or just wish it away. He showered and went down to his store cupboard in the kitchen. A handsome vial of Hangover Potion sat in what appeared to be a spice rack. A wooden case filled with potions from the world he no longer really wanted to associate with. He popped the cork and downed all the contents on one go. The steaming blue liquid felt cool on his tongue, soon clearing up his alcohol induced headache and all his other hangover symptoms. He felt much better; ready to begin the day once more now that every noise didn't make his head throb.

As the hours passed, he remembered to send off Ginny's clothes in a parcel. he even went out to look for a job again. The local newspaper had an advertisement for an opening at a small law firm. It was anything fancy, just a paid internship for aspiring solicitors. He went there for the interview. They would only be accepting three applications - he learned as he read more of the advertisement - so his chances of actually getting a spot was slim to nothing. But he had to try.

Harry shaved, showered and dressed in a nice black suit with a dark grey waistcoat. Dress to impress. He also combed his hair, and with a little styling gel, it stayed in place; looking soft and silky and not a hair out of place. In short, he looked very handsome. Harry reached into the cabinet behind the mirror and pulled out a small plastic box. Inside contained some small round pieces of soft, squishy plastic. Contact lenses. Harry removed his glasses and picked up a lens. Leaning his head back, he carefully placed the lens on his eye and blinked. Them repeated the same process for the other eye.

Now he looked more that handsome; he looked gorgeous! And he could see clearly too. No stupid glasses for him. Taking a deep breath, Harry exited the bathroom and returned to his bedroom. He slipped his black shoes on, adjusted his tie once more as he looked himself over in the mirror and - deciding that he was indeed ready to face the great outside world - grabbed his keys and walked out the door.

The drive was fifteen minutes across town. He pulled his car into the parking lot of an old, grey brick building that he assumed was the law firm. Harry parked and got out of the car, making sure to lock the doors. Inside was neatly furnished with leather chairs. Many vases full of flowers sat on tables along the walls and on the front desk where the receptionist sat. A young woman, possibly in her late twenties, was on the phone with what sounded to be a client as she typed some information into a computer.

"All right, Mr. Hastings, we'll see you tomorrow at nine-thirty a.m. Mr. Rosenfeld will be happy to see you again. Again, my condolences for your loss," the woman said, "bye bye."

Harry felt nervous as he approached her desk. He buttoned the middle button on his suit jacket to appear more professional.

"Hello, how may I help you, sir?" the woman addressed him.

"Oh, hello. I'm..." and Harry truly wondered if he should now implement his desired name change, "I'm Arthur Kipps." he finally said.

"Nice to meet you Mr. Kipps. I'm Mary Stevens." she said and extended her hand to him.

Harry accepted it, not failing to notice a large gaudy ruby ring - which looked more pink than red - that was surrounded with a circle of diamonds. It was big and cheap and easily covered the knuckles on three of her fingers. Harry released her hand and offered a fake smile and hoped it looked sincere.

"I'm here to inquire about the internship." Harry said.

"Oh, yes. Mr. Bentley is currently with another applicant right now. Have a seat and he'll be right with you." Mary Cheap-Ring said.

Harry sighed and sat down in one of the expensive leather chairs some feet away. Minutes passed slowly and seconds even slower. Harry glanced at his watch, he'd only been waiting for ten minutes, but it easily felt like an hour. And finally at the twelfth minute, Mary Cheap-Ring spoke to him.

"Mr. Bentley will see you now. His office is at the end of the hall. It's not hard to find."

Harry stood and smiled, for real this time, "Thank you."

About an hour later, Harry shook hands with Mr. Bentley and smiled.

"Thank you, sir." Harry said.

"Not at all, Mr. Kipps. We're happy to have you." Mr. Bentley said.

Harry just kept smiling and released the man's hand. Mr. Bentley sat back down in his chair behind his desk and regarded Harry warmly.

"You start Monday. My assistant, Mrs. Norris, will be more than happy to show you around and get you all squared away."

Harry's smile faltered a bit and he looked like he might have a small fainting spell. "W-Wha- Who?"

"Jane Norris. She's my assistant." Mr. Bentley said firmly, "Mr. Kipps, are you feeling well? You look rather pale."

Harry shook his head, "And she's... a person, right?"

_That was a stupid question_. Harry thought.

"Of course." Mr. Bentley said dryly. "Are you sure you're fine?"

Harry closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. "Yes. Just a bit tired."

"All right. Go home and get some rest. We can't have you blanking out around here." Mr. Bentley smiled in a friendly manner.

"Thank you, sir. I'll see you Monday." Harry said and walked out of Mr. Bentley's office.

thanks drarrypotter94 for beta-ing. and leave a review if you are so inclined. they make me very happy.


	4. Transition

Chapter 4 - Transition

The weeks rolled by and turned into months. Harry was becoming very fond of Stella. They were going steady for quite a while before Harry had proposed marriage. Harry abandoned Grimmauld Place and moved into Stella's home to avoid the problems that would arise if he'd asked her to move in with him. How would he explain the fact that his house appears between two others at his whim? Or that he has a little, grouchy elf servant that talks to the moving photos on his walls? It was better to leave all that out of the equation and keep his life as unperturbed as possible. Stella quickly became pregnant after they were married. Harry's life was going great.

He mostly used contact lenses, although he kept his glasses with him at all times, just incase. And he still used the false name Arthur Kipps, but had not bothered to legally change it due to the fact that he felt as if changing his identity would be an insult to his parents; Lily and James Potter. He enjoyed working as a solicitor, though his boss, Mr. Bently, was quite a difficult man than he first appeared to be. He often would reprimand Harry for being late. Though Harry was only late on days when Stella was feeling ill from morning sickness. She would need Harry's attention, and even though Harry didn't want to be late to work, he still cared for her. Sometimes losing track of the time and barely making it to work on time. Other days, Harry would arrive an hour late if he needed to take Stella to her doctor appointments.

He made sure to be on time after he received a substantial pay cut. Harry sighed as he sat at his desk. He was going over some legal papers regarding a man who'd recently passed away due to a sudden accident, and had not left a will and final testament. He owned a large company that sold designer clothes; he was worth millions and now his family was fighting like junkyard dogs for control of his assets. Harry didn't enjoy the insane turmoil some cases brought to his life, but he knew he had to take the good with the bad in every situation. He'd just turned to the next page, when his phone rang.

"Hello?" He answered.

"Arthur!" It was Stella. "I'm going into labour," she said, her voice harsh and breathy.

"Oh, lord! I'll be right there, darling." Harry said and hung up the phone.

He scrambled for his keys, coat, and briefcase. As he was heading out the door he called to Mr. Bently, who was in his own office, "I have to leave early. My wife is going into labour."

And then he slipped out before Mr. Bently could try to stop him or chastise him about not having a good work ethic. He ran to the back of the old building, where he'd parked his car that morning, and unlocked the driver's door as quickly as humanly possible. He was excited and screamingly nervous all at the same time.

"I'm going to be a father. I'm going to be a father." he said to himself as he pulled out of the parking lot, as if saying it out loud would make it any less surreal.

With the additional chaos of running a stop sign, and nearly getting hit by another car in the cross-lane, Harry arrived at his and Stella's home rather quickly. She was waiting for him in the living room in her maternity dress, with her over-night suitcase that Harry had packed for her just last week. Good thing too.

"Come on, love," Harry said, helping Stella stand up from the couch, "I've got the car still running."

"Oh, Arthur. Thank you." She said with a warm smile as he led her out to the car.

He ran back in to grab her suitcase and then lock the front door before getting in the car himself and driving them to the hospital. Along the way, he ran a stop sign, but no one was around to see, so it was all right in his estimation. Stella was in labour and he needed to get to the hospital as fast as possible. Thank goodness most of the lights to the hospital were green. Harry didn't really think about it then, but as they pulled up to the hospital's Emergency Entrance, Harry wondered if he'd had something to do with all the lights staying green. He knew he'd experience bouts of wandless magic before, and he wondered if that was the case now. He wouldn't be surprised if it was.

Harry led Stella inside and called for a doctor and told them what the situation was. The nurses and a doctor came over with a wheel chair for Stella before taking her to the maternity ward.

"I love you Arthur." Stella whispered as he walked with them all to the ward.

Harry took her hand in his. "I love you too."

"I'm scared," she mouthed.

"It's okay. I'm right here," he whispered, and gave her a reassuring smile.

She smiled too and squeezed his hand a little, before they reached the door of a room and she was led inside. Harry meant to follow, but the doctor stopped him.

"I'm sorry, sir. You can't come in. We everything to remain sanitary, and we don't have an extra scrubs you could wear," he said.

Harry hesitated. He wanted to be with Stella and respect hospital regulations, and for a moment he wished he had his wand, so that he could Imperius the doctor, but then decided that would be foolish. So he simply nodded and waited outside the door.

Hours later Harry paced in the waiting room while his wife was in the maternity ward, giving birth. He paced restlessly for the last three hours. What the hell was taking so long? He worried and fretted and garnered some curious glances as he began mumbling to himself like a crazy person who'd escaped from the mental ward on the seventh floor. Though, a considerate nurse did offer to get him some coffee, if he'd like. He politely declined and thanked her for her offer. After another ten minutes, Harry thought he was going to die from anxiety. He'd bitten all his fingernails off in agitation and picked at his cuticles until they began to bleed.

"Shit." Harry groused as his index finger began to hurt.

Just then a nurse walked out of the hospital room, carrying a small bundle of blankets that was crying insistently. The woman seemed sad though, and Harry had direful feeling creeping it's way through his body. She handed the baby to him.

"It's a boy, Mr. Kipps," she said in monotone, the looked at him hesitantly.

For a second, Harry felt a over-joyed warmth spread through his chest as he looked at the little baby boy in his arms - who immediately stopped crying at the sense of his father's embrace. But then Harry diverted his attention back to the nurse, waiting to hear what she had to tell him. She swallowed and sighed, fidgeting with her hand slightly. She was young and probably wasn't used to delivering bad news to poor, unsuspecting people. Harry worried.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Kipps, but... your wife... she's gone." The young nurse said, and fearing Harry's reaction, just quietly returned to her work.

Harry was in shock. He'd felt like he was suddenly doused with ice-cold water as his world simultaneously shattered and crumbled around his feet. To keep from falling over, Harry sat down in one of the cushioned chairs. Although the rest of him felt unstable, his arms were clenched tight in fear of dropping his precious son. His son. He looked down at the small piece of Stella in his arms. The baby's eyes were open and looking up at him curiously. His eyes were a beautiful bluish with flecks of green. He had his mother's eyes.

"It'll be all right," Harry said to the baby, "It's gonna be all right, Albus Severus Potter."

Harry named his son so in honour of the two men whom had worked so hard to protect him in his adolescence at Hogwarts; Albus Percival Wolfric Brian Dumbledore, and Severus Snape. He'd swore to himself that his son would he named after them. In memory of their loss and the loss of his wife, Harry broke; sobbing uncontrollably as he held his son close. On some level, he really missed Hogwarts...

They kept baby Albus Potter at the hospital overnight for observation to make sure he was a healthy newborn and told Harry that he could take him home tomorrow morning. Harry left for home. The only home he'd felt like he'd truly belonged. Grimmauld Place. If only just for this one night. It's too fresh a wound; the loss of Stella. He can't spend the night there. Not so soon. He'll have to go back there tomorrow with Albus, but for now he'd rather dwell in comfortable nostalgia that was Sirius' abode.

Over the next few weeks, Harry kept working and taking care of his son. He threw himself into his job and the well-being of his only child to avoid his emotions. It was his way of grieving. He'd also hired a nanny to care for his son while he was working. A lovely middle-aged woman, named Meredith Godderson. She was an incredible woman who was alway polite and nurturing in her duties. Harry also paid her extra for any additional house-work while he was away. They remained at Stella's home, what with the fact that his hired nanny was a muggle and Harry was working with Stella's family on the matter of her passing. Not that there was much to do... Harry arrived home late in the evening, tired as usual. Meredith greeted him at the door.

"Hello, Mr. Kipps. Albus is tucked away in his crib, sleeping like a baby." she smiled warmly and moved to take his coat.

Harry laughed. "That's because he _is_ a baby."

She divested him of his large black coat and hung it on the coat rack. An enticing smell wafted from the kitchen and hit Harry's nose. He inhaled deeply, enjoying the rich scent.

"What is that delicious smell?" Harry asked, as he stepped further into the house, rolling up the sleeves of his white, collared, button-down shirt.

Meredith moved to the kitchen, while Harry busied himself with looking at the new mail, most of it junk. "Beef and lamb stew, with cheese and asparagus fried rice," she said from the kitchen, metal utensils clinking on cast-iron skillets.

Harry looked at a letter from Mr. Bently, assigning him to the new Wenton Forth case, and telling him that the Forth family is eager to work with him. Harry groaned aloud in utter frustration, _that's a bloody lie._ Harry's not the type of solicitor whose reputation precedes them. He's messed up more than once with a person's assets.

Just then there was screeching coming from the living room window that was slightly ajar. Harry glanced over to see what it was, and he paled. An owl! Oh dear, if his nanny sees a Horned Owl with a letter in it's beak addressed to Harry Potter, she's going to think he's mental! Or at the very least that the owl is mental. Or that the whole situation is just complete madness! Harry raced to the window, quickly grabbing the letter from the owl.

"Shoo, you can't be here!" Harry whispered harshly, waving his hand frantically.

The owl hooted indignantly and flew away, but not before biting Harry's finger and giving him a nice little gash from a razor-sharp beak. Harry quickly closed the window and hid the letter in his trousers just as Meredith asked from the kitchen, "What was that noise?"

"Nothing!" Harry lied smoothly, "I'm gonna go shower before dinner."

"All right. Don't be too long." She told him in response, "Food will be done soon!"

"Okay." Harry said and darted into the bathroom.

Harry locked the door behind him and pulled the letter out of his trousers. It was indeed addressed to a Harry Potter. The parchment was a soft cream colored shade, and it smelled of musty old books and something distinctly familiar. He opened the letter and saw the neat and near-perfect scrawl that was unforgettable. Hermione.

_ 'Dear Harry,_

_I hope you're doing well. I'm worried about you._

_And although he won't admit it, Ron is too._

_We haven't heard from you in over a year!_

_Molly has been asking about you. _

_And Ginny sends her sincere apologies._

_Please write back soon._

_ - Love, Hermione.'_

Harry inhaled deeply and placed his hand over his mouth in thought. Emotions surfaced and he wanted to either cry or scream; he didn't know which. He honestly didn't know what to write back. Tell them what happen with Stella? He loved Ron and Hermione, but some things he'd rather keep private. And then he started wondering why he'd left the wizarding world in the first place. Was it really _that_ bad to be a celebrity for destroying the Darkest wizard of all time? He supposed not, but now he's stuck between a rock and a hard place and he doesn't know if he wants to go back or stay in the muggle world. So instead of thinking about it too much, Harry walked to his bedroom and pulled out a little stationery set - that stella gave to him on his birthday - and began to write a letter to Hermione.

_ 'Dear Hermione,_

_I miss you. And Ron. _

_Hope you're doing well. _

_I'm fine. Write any time._

_I'll be in touch._

_ -Love, Harry.'_

* * *

Fair warning: I am, after all (as you probably very well know, if you've read my fics) a slash writer. So... keep that in mind, my dear readers. ;)


End file.
